Screw (Hell's Handlers MC 8)

Or ten.

“Don’t think so,” he said crossing his arms over that massive chest. The beer bottle dangled from his fingers, swinging like a pendulum.

Jazz sighed.

“Maybe you don’t know how shit works around here, but bitches show respect to the men in the club.”

Was he for real? Jazz laughed. “You’re not in the club, asshole.”

His eyes narrowed, practically shooting darts her way. “The fuck you say to me?”

She rolled her eyes. Was he this dense? “You’re not wearing a cut,” she said with exaggerated slowness as though speaking to someone of lesser intelligence. “That means, you. Aren’t. In. The. Club.” As she spoke, she used her forefinger to punctuate each word.

Just as the guy reached out, a growled, “What the fuck,” came from her right side. The asshole dropped his arm at once, and Jazz’s eyes fell closed in a combination of relief and resignation. Couldn’t someone, anyone else have come to her rescue?

“I asked what the fuck is going on here?” Screw asked, getting up in the guy’s face despite the fact he had a good five inches on Screw.

“Screw, it’s nothing,” Jazz said, reaching for his arm. “Just a misunderstanding. Let’s forget it and enjoy the party.” Her hands closed around his bicep, or at least tried to. It was too big to circle. She tugged him back toward her. As Screw resisted being dragged away from the conflict, his muscles flexed, nearly popping her hands right off him.

Dayum, when had he bulked up so much?

“This bitch don’t know how to respect members of the club,” the guy said as though he had the right to comment on anything Handlers related.

Jazz groaned. Here it came.

“You ain’t in my fucking club,” Screw said, his voice more lethal than she knew he was capable of.

“Not yet, working on it. Supposed to meet with Copper tomorrow about prospecting.”

With a snort, Screw turned, and finally looked her over. Apparently, the accidental slap did leave a mark because his face went from pissed to murderous in a fraction of a second. Nostrils flaring and fists clenched, he started to turn back toward the asshole.

“No! Screw, wait!” Jazz grabbed the open flaps of his cut and yanked with all her strength. He didn’t budge forward, but he stopped turning which was enough of a win. “It was an accident, okay,” she said, speaking quickly. “He was flailing those big arms around when I walked by and he clocked me. Just a little red mark”—she hoped—“No permanent damage, and nothing to get worked up about.”

Time stood still as Screw’s hand lifted and settled against her sore cheek. “Don’t give a shit,” he whispered. “No one fucking touches you without bringing you pleasure.”

“Ahh,” her eyes widened as her jaw fell to her knees. Being momentarily stunned allowed Screw to break her hold and turn back to the now snickering asshole.

Despite being smaller, Screw charged the guy, shoving him back with both hands against his massive chest. The hang-around’s back hit the bar, bending in what had to be an painful angle. “I’ll tell Copper your meeting is canceled,” Screw growled.

All around them gasps and curious questions flew as more and more people clued into the drama unfolding.

Jazz’s face heated, but not because of the slap. God, how she hated being the center of attention. As she moved toward Screw, she tugged the too short sleeves of her sweater down in vain.

“Screw!”

“Everything okay, brother?” LJ asked as he appeared inside the circle of doom.

At six foot six, he was much closer in size to the asshole.

“Just taking out the trash,” Screw said, yanking the asshole to a standing position.

“The fuck?” the guy said. “You can’t throw me out. I’m meeting with Copper tomorrow. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Oh, shit,” LJ said. “I’ll get rid of him for you, brother.”

“Thanks.” Screw leaned in closer and said. “I’m the club’s fucking enforcer and I sure as fuck can toss your ass outta here. As for respect? You don’t fucking deserve it, but the lady does. I want to hear a fucking apology.”

“S—” Her mouth snapped closed at the deadly look Screw shot her.

“Let’s go, fucker,” LJ said, shoving the guy forward.

With fists curled and face so read it bordered purple, the guy stepped into Jazz’s space. Though she wanted to cower, she held her ground.

“Sorry, ma’am,” lumber jack said. “Be more careful next time.”

“T-thank you,” she said, feeling every single eye in the place on her. Goddamn Screw.

LJ shoved and the lumberjack stumbled but regained his footing, hoofing it toward the door. With Screw’s attention on the retreating back of the asshole, Jazz escaped toward the bathroom. She hadn’t run into any of her girlfriends yet, though she’d spotted most of them clear across the clubhouse. Too far with the blaring music to notice what had just gone down.